The past few days haven’t been good. A recurring dream about being on the stand, opening my mouth, but instead of words, a colony of bats flies out. Screeching the truth. The shame of saying it out loud, of what I let you do to me. Of what I let you do to them. I woke up this morning gasping for breath, the pillow game you used to play.
Morgan didn’t reply to my messages over the weekend. She sometimes helps her uncle out so I know that’ll be what it is but I’ve often wondered what would happen if she found out about me. Whether she’d understand, still want to be my friend. I’ve thought about telling her. She’s the person I feel closest to, and sometimes the burden of you is too much on my own. The need to share, to feel normal. I’m not sure if she’d keep it secret though and I worry that if the parents of the children you took can’t get to you, they might come after me. A child for a child.
I choose a black hoodie and jeans. Uggs. Today we’re going on a school trip with Brookmere College, and I’ve been dreading it since it was announced. Visible I feel, for all the wrong reasons, the other girls, confident. Know how to act around boys. In the kitchen there’s a note from Mike, along with a plate of croissants: ‘Monday treat, enjoy the trip, girls.’
The way he pluralizes me and Phoebe. A team. I wouldn’t mind it being true, we’d make a good one. Saskia comes in, asks if I’m looking forward to the trip.
‘Sort of.’
‘Better than lessons, surely?’
Not really, no.
‘Here, take a croissant with you.’
‘Thanks. Has Phoebe left already?’
‘About five minutes ago, I think.’
‘Okay, see you later.’
I chuck the croissant in the bin on the way to school, stomach all over the place. I’m hoping to see MK this afternoon when we get back, show her more of my work. She nods and smiles whenever she sees me at school. Last Friday she stopped at my table during lunch, wished me a nice weekend. I found myself imagining what my life would’ve been like if I’d grown up with her instead of you. I felt guilty afterwards, almost immediately.
The bus is outside school when I arrive, registration on board. Hurry up, everyone, on you go, says Mr Collier, one of the classics teachers. I choose a seat near the front, less likely anybody will sit next to me. Headphones on, no music though. The bus fills quickly, energy full and ripe. The girls aglow, an extra layer of bronzer applied, perfume sprayed liberally. The boys, like apes, do pull-ups on the overhead luggage rack. A zoo. Overwhelming. A headcount is done, somebody shouts from the back, Joe’s missing, a joke about him taking a dump. Limits are set by Mr Dugan, the boys’ teacher.
‘I see him, sir, he’s coming.’
‘Hurry up, Joe. No, you can’t, we’ve waited long enough for you, just sit in the first seat you find, please.’
He looks towards the back, shrugs, drops into the seat next to me. Catcalls and whistles follow, he holds his middle finger up in the air.
‘Pipe down, the lot of you,’ Mr Dugan says, through the microphone. ‘We should get there in about forty minutes or so, traffic dependent. When we arrive you are not to wander off, understood? Disembark from the bus, go inside and wait as a group at the ticket desk. Please remember, all of you, even out of uniform you represent both schools. Any questions?’
‘Can we stop at McDonald’s?’
‘Any sensible questions? No. Excellent. Sit back and enjoy the view and for goodness’ sake, Oscar Feltham, take your feet off the seats, manners of a pig.’
I can see Joe looking at me, little sidelong glances, checking for my second head. I turn further towards the window, away from him, yet the smell of him follows. A spicy depth, some kind of spray deodorant, not unpleasant though the thought embarrasses me. He asks me something. My instinct is to ignore but he says it again, leaning forward in his seat so he’s in my line of vision. I lift one of my headphones away from my ear, turn to face him. Hair, ginger. Eyes, blue.
‘Sorry, what was that?’
‘Would you like some chewing gum?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Oh go on, it’s the menthol one, dead strong.’
He holds the packet towards me. No thanks, I tell him again, wishing I was able to relax, act in a more normal, open way. More practice needed. He withdraws his hand, shrugs, puts a piece in his mouth, letting out an exaggerated breath moments later as the menthol kicks in. He smiles and says, probably should have said no as well, opens his mouth, pants a little. I don’t want to see his tongue, so I look away.
‘Have you been to the London Dungeon before?’ he asks.
Somewhere very similar.
‘No.’
His voice is low, he doesn’t want the back of the bus to know we’re talking.
‘Neither have I, should be a real laugh though.’
I don’t reply, I don’t agree.
‘You don’t look that keen.’
‘Not really.’
‘How come?’
‘I’m not feeling very well.’
‘You’re not going to spew, are you?’ He smiles as he says it.
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘Phew. You’re not from here, are you? I know you’re staying with Phoebe and her folks for a bit.’
I nod.
‘Whereabouts are you from?’
‘I’ve moved around a lot.’
‘That’s cool, I’ve only ever lived here. I’m Joe by the way.’
‘Milly.’
‘So how is life in the Newmont household?’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Phoebe not being a pain in the arse then?’
The surprise on my face lasts long enough for him to notice. He winks at me. Oh god.
‘Come on, I’ve known her for years, she can be a real bitch. Pretty hot, but still a bitch.’
‘She’s not all bad.’
‘Really? That surprises me, she’s not one for competition.’
‘I’m not in competition with her.’
‘She’ll see it that way, trust me, and because you’re different she won’t be a happy bunny.’
I can’t bring myself to ask him what he means by different. The suspicion of a set-up between Phoebe and him, a conversation late at night where she asked him to pretend to like me, then make me look like a fool.
‘Being different is good by the way. Trust me, I’m ginger.’
He smiles again, then asks, ‘Are you coming to Matty’s party at half-term?’
Another hot topic on the forum. Free house, carnage. Teenagers’ default mechanism is. Party. I’m not sure I got that gene.
‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘I’m inviting you.’
‘I’m not really into parties.’
‘Everyone’s going, it’ll be a real laugh. You and Phoebs should come together, Matty’s house is only a few streets from yours.’
‘Not sure, maybe. I might listen to my music now if that’s okay.’
‘Sweet, I’ll catch a few zeds before we get there.’